Warmth
by PrydainViolet
Summary: Some sadness, romance, sacrifice and friendship in a short scene from The High King Spoilers!. Hopefully a little happier than the last one though.


Notes: I do not own the Prydain Chronicles or it's characters or any affiliates

Thank you so much to those of you who have been reading and reviewing my work! It honestly makes my day :)

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"What are material keepsakes good for, really? They don't share your pulse or your breath. We don't depend on them for food or water. It's not as if a harp is as useful as a sword. Harps come and go, that certainly wasn't the last harp in all of Prydain! It doesn't matter, really." Fflewddur was alternately trying to convince his companions and himself that he would not miss the instrument. Despite the fact that the harp was not actually part of his body, Fflewddur could have sworn that he felt the fire as if it were consuming him as well. (But of course, harps don't feel anything. They don't have personalities. Merely bits of wood and string. Of course.) The burning sensation seemed to be particularly affecting his eyes and he was worried that it may be doing damage to his vision, for the entire cave seemed to be shimmering and swimming before him. "Great Belin, pull yourself together, man!" Flewddur berated himself. "Would you rather loose your harp or your companions and your life? A Fflam would never be so selfish!" Reassured and comforted, Fflewddur made a show of rubbing the smoke out of his eyes and once he was seeing and thinking more clearly took stock of the situation. Amazing, really, that so little wood would still be burning and giving off so much warmth Even though his friends were still in shock, the fire seemed to be giving them much needed protection from the cold. He sighed in relief as he saw Eilonwy gain consciousness and sit up. Before Doli lit the fire Fflewddur had been sure that she would never wake again, and her death seemed to weaken Taran as well. Fflewddur watched as Eilonwy's expression changed from confusion to admiration to sorrow. When he saw tears springing into her eyes at the sight of flames engulfing his precious harp, Fflewddur felt the pang of loss again and was forced to mumble something about the smoke. It really had been a beautiful harp.

Eilonwy could not help but cry at the sight of Fflewddur's mangled harp. She recalled how upset she felt when she thought she lost her bauble. Strange how these little things come to matter so. As she rubbed her eyes and looked around, she wondered vaguely where Gurgi and Taran's cloaks were until she looked down and realized that they were covering her. Her valiant struggle against a fresh round of tears failed miserably and she mumbled in agreement with Fflewddur something about smoke. After Gurgi declined his sheepskin, Eilonwy placed it tentatively over Achren. She half-expected the fallen queen to wake up and snatch at her. Eilonwy doubted that she would ever feel safe around Achren again, not that she had ever felt particularly comfortable. She walked back and sat down close to Taran, holding out his cloak for him to take. He refused. She insisted. Taran paused for a moment and looked into her face. He then took the cloak out of her hands, but before she could move Taran had put his arm around her shoulders and wrapped the fabric around both of them. Feeling warmer than she ever had before, Eilonwy smiled into the fire. She had no wish to sleep. What restless dreams she had were now haunted by the leering face's of Dorath's gang and their rough hands… Eilonwy pulled the cloak tighter and Taran held her even closer. Her troubled thoughts slid away into wonder as the burning harp magically began to play and sing. As she laid her head on Taran's shoulder, she thought that perhaps her dreams would not be haunted forever.

Taran could hardly believe the turn of events. Not long ago they had all been hovering on the brink of death without hope. He had been struggling to hold back his panic at their situation when Eilonwy had started hallucinating and then had gone frighteningly still. He had barely recovered from loosing her the night they were ambushed and his joy at her return had made him more vulnerable to loose her yet again. Despite his obligation to his remaining companions as well as the army he had amassed, Taran had found it impossible to think of a plan or means of survival when his mind kept screaming that he did not want to live through the night if she was already gone. And yet here they were, warm and safe in each other's arms by a fire that was not diminishing. Taran knew that it was Fflewddur's clear mind and painful sacrifice that had kept them all alive. He did not know how to repay such a debt. He looked at the bard, his pointy haired head resting heavily on his hand as his eyes gazed sadly at the remains of his treasure. An enchanting melody filled the cave and quivered through their bodies and minds. It was very smoky in the cave, indeed.


End file.
